THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN
Money can do most things, even in the matter of furnishing a large house
with competent servants, and by six o'clock Vera had contrived for the
domestic machine to run a little more smoothly. At any rate, she was in a
position now to provide Fenwick with something in the shape of a
respectable dinner on his return from town.
It was about a quarter to eight when he put in an appearance, and for the
first time for some days he changed into evening dress for the chief meal
of the day. He appeared to be as morose and savage as he had been in the
morning, in fact even more so if that were possible. He answered Vera's
questions curtly, so that she fell back upon herself and ate her soup in
silence. And yet, though Fenwick was so quiet, it seemed to Vera that he
was regarding her with a deep distrust, so that she found herself
flushing under his gaze. He put his spoon down presently, and pointed
with his hand to Vera's swollen fingers.
"What have you got there?" he demanded. "How did you do that?"
"I burnt it," Vera stammered. "It was an accident."
"Well, I don't suppose you burnt it on purpose," Fenwick growled. "I
don't suppose you put your hand into the fire to see if it was hot. What
I asked you was how you did it. Please answer my question."
"I repeat it was an accident," Vera said, coldly. "I burnt my fingers in
such a way--"
"Yes, and you are not the first woman who has burnt her fingers
interfering with things that don't concern her. I insist upon knowing
exactly how that accident happened."
Vera turned a cold, contemptuous face to her companion; she began to
understand now that his suspicions were aroused. It came back to her
vividly enough that she had dropped the hot sovereign on the floor, and
that, owing to the shock and sudden surprise, she had not replaced it. It
was just possible that Fenwick had gone into the little room and had
missed the sovereign from the neat layer of coins on the top of the box.
And then another dreadful thought came to Vera--supposing that the
drugged man had not recovered from the effects of his dose by the time
that Fenwick had returned? It was a point which both she and Venner had
overlooked. There was nothing for it but to take refuge behind an assumed
indignation, and decline to answer offensive questions put in that tone
of voice. Vera was still debating as to the most contemptuous reply when
the dining-room door opened and one of the newly-arrived servants
announced Mr. Blossett.
Fenwick rose to his feet and an unmistakable oath escaped his lips. All
the same, he forced a kind of sickly smile to his face, as a big man,
with an exceedingly red face and an exceedingly offensive swaggering
manner, came into the dining-room. The stranger was quite well dressed,
nothing about his garments offended the eye or outraged good taste, yet,
all the same, the man had "bounder" written all over him in large
letters. His impudent red face, his aggressively waxed moustache, and the
easy familiarity of his manner, caused Vera to shrink within herself,
though she could have been grateful to the fellow for the diversion which
his appearance had created.
"Well, Fenwick, my buck!" he cried. "You didn't expect that I should
accept your invitation quite so promptly, but I happen to be knocking
around here, and I thought I'd drop in and join you in your chop. This is
your daughter, I suppose? Glad to make your acquaintance, miss. I was
told there were many beauties at Merton Grange, but I find that there is
one more than I expected."
Vera merely bowed in reply. The man was so frankly, hopelessly, utterly
vulgar that her uppermost feeling was one of amusement. She could see
that Fenwick was terribly annoyed, though for some reason he had to keep
himself in hand and be agreeable to Blossett.
"Sit down," he said. "Ring the bell, and we will get another cover laid.
I don't suppose you mind missing the soup."
"I have been in the soup too often to care about it," Blossett laughed.
"To tell the truth, we had such a warm time last night that solid food
and myself are not on speaking terms just now. Here, waiter, fill me a
tumbler of champagne. I daresay when I have got that down my neck I shall
be able to pay my proper attentions to this young lady."
Fenwick made no reply; he cut savagely at his fish as if he were passing
the knife over the throat of the intruder. Meanwhile the stranger rattled
on, doubtless under the impression that he was making himself exceedingly
agreeable. Vera sat there watching the scene with a certain sense of
amusement. She was still a little pale and unsteady, still doubtful as to
the amount of information that Fenwick had gleaned as to her movements
that afternoon. She would be glad to get away presently and try to
ascertain for herself whether the drugged man had recovered or not.
Meanwhile, there was no occasion for her to talk, as the intruder was
quite able to carry on all the necessary conversation.
"This is mighty fine tipple," he said. "Waiter, give me another tumbler
of champagne. In my chequered career I don't often run up against this
class of lotion. The worst of it is, it makes one talk too fast, and
seeing that I have got to run the gauntlet with the next little parcel of
sparklers--"
"Fool!" Fenwick burst out. His face was livid with rage, his eyes were
shot with passionate anger. "Fool! can't you be silent? Don't you see
that there is one here who is outside--"
"Beg pardon," Blossett said, unsteadily. "I thought the young woman knew
all about it. Lord, with her dainty face and her aristocratic air, what a
bonnet she'd make. Wouldn't she look nice passing off as the daughter of
the old military swell with a fondness for a little game of cards? You
know what I mean--the same game that old Jim and his wife used to play."
"Be silent," Fenwick thundered in a tone that at last seemed to
penetrate the thick skull of his companion. "My--my daughter knows
nothing of these things."
Blossett stammered something incoherent, his manner became more sullen,
and long before dinner was completed it was evident that he had had far
more wine than was good for him.
"If you will excuse me, I will leave you," Vera said coldly. "I do not
care for any dessert or coffee to-night."
"Perhaps you had better go," Fenwick said with an air of relief. "I will
take care that this thing does not happen again."
But Vera had already left the room; she was still consumed with anxiety,
and desired to know more of what had happened to the man whom Venner had
drugged. She did not dare venture as far as the little room, for fear
that suspicious eyes should be watching her. It was just possible that
Fenwick had given his satellites a hint to note her movements. Therefore,
all she could do was to sit in the drawing-room with the door open. Some
of the men began to pass presently, and after a little time, with a sigh
of relief, Vera caught sight of the one upon whom the trick of the snuff
was played. He seemed all right, as far as she could judge, and the girl
began to breathe a little more freely.
As she sat there in the silence watching and waiting, she saw Fenwick and
his companion emerge from the dining-room and cross the hall in the
direction of the billiard room. Blossett was still talking lightly and
incoherently; he leant on the arm of his host, and obviously the support
was necessary. Vera had never before seen a drunken man under the same
roof as herself, and her soul revolted at the sight. How much longer was
this going on, she wondered? How much more would she be called upon to
endure? For the present, she had only to possess herself in patience and
hope for the best. She was longing now for something like action. The
silence and stillness of the house oppressed her; she would have liked to
be up and doing something. Anything better than sitting there.
The silence was broken presently by the sound of angry voices proceeding
from the billiard-room. Half-a-dozen men seemed to be talking at the same
time--words floated to Vera's ears; then suddenly the noise ceased, as if
somebody had clapped down a lid upon the meeting. Vera guessed exactly
what had happened. The billiard-room door had been closed for fear of the
servants hearing what was going on. It was just possible that behind
those closed doors the mystery that had so puzzled Vera was being
unfolded. She recollected now that between the dining-and the
billiard-room was a fairly large conservatory opening on either side into
the apartments in question. It was just possible that Fenwick and his
companions might have overlooked the conservatory. At any rate, Vera
determined to take advantage of the chance. The conservatory was full of
palms and plants and flowers, behind which it was possible for the girl
to hide and listen to all that was going on.
Vera fully understood the danger she was running, she quite appreciated
the fact that discovery might be visited with unpleasant consequences.
But this did not deter her for a moment. She was in the conservatory a
little later, and was not displeased to find that the door leading to
the billiard-room was open. Behind a thick mask of ferns she took her
stand. Between the feathery fronds she could see into the billiard-room
without being seen. Fenwick was standing by the side of the table laying
down the law about something, while the rest of his men were scattered
about the room.
"Why should I do it?" Fenwick was saying. "Why should I trust a man
like you? You come down to-night on the most important errand, well
knowing the risks you are running, and you start by getting drunk at
the dinner table."
"I wasn't drunk," Blossett said sullenly. "As to the girl, why, I
naturally expected--"
"Who gave you the right to expect?" Fenwick demanded. "Couldn't you see
at a glance that she knew nothing about it. Another word and you would
have betrayed the whole thing. You can stay here all night and talk if
you like, but you are not going to have that parcel to take away to
London with you. In your present condition you would be in the hands of
the police before morning."
"But I haven't got a cent," Blossett said. "I hadn't enough money in my
pocket to pay my cab fare from Canterbury; and don't you try on any of
your games with me, because I am not the sort of man to stand them. You
are a fine lot of workmen I know, but there isn't one of you who has the
pluck and ability to take two thousand pound's worth of that stuff and
turn it into cash in a week. Now look at the last parcel I had, I got
rid of it in such a manner that no one could possibly discover that I
ever handled the metal at all. Who among you could say the same thing?"
"Oh, you are right enough so long as you keep sober," Fenwick said. "But,
all the same, I shall not trust you with the parcel that is waiting
upstairs."
Vera listened, comprehending but little of what was going on. After all,
she seemed to be having only her trouble for her pains. Beyond doubt
these men were doing something illicit with the coinage of the country,
though Vera could not bring herself to believe that they were passing off
counterfeit money, seeing that the sovereigns were absolutely genuine.
"Well, something has got to be done," another of the gang remarked. "We
are bound to have a few thousand during the next few days, and, as
Blossett says, there is nobody that can work the oracle as well as he
can. The best thing I can do is to go to town with him and keep a close
eye on him till he has pulled round once more. He can keep sober enough
on occasions if he likes, and once the drinking fit has passed he may be
right for weeks."
"I am going to have no one with me," Blossett roared. "Do you think I am
going to be treated like a blooming kid? I tell you, I am the best man of
the lot of you. There isn't one of you can hold a candle to me. Fenwick,
with all his cunning, is a child compared with Ned Blossett. Ask any of
the old gang in New York, ask the blistering police if you like; and as
to the rest of you, who are you? A set of whitefaced mechanics, without
pluck enough to rob a hen-roost. Take that, you cur!"
The speaker rose suddenly to his feet and lurched across the room in
Fenwick's direction. He aimed an unexpected blow at the latter which sent
him headlong to the floor, and immediately the whole room was a scene of
angry violence.
Vera shrank back in her shelter, hardly knowing what to do next. She
saw that Blossett had disentangled himself from the mob about him and
was making his way headlong into the conservatory. There was nothing
for it but instant retreat. On the opposite side was a doorway leading
to the garden, and through this Vera hastily slipped and darted across
the grass, conscious of the noise and struggle going on behind. She
paused with a little cry of vexation as she came close to a man who was
standing on the edge of the lawn looking at the house. It was only for
a moment that she stood there in doubt; then a glad little cry broke
from her lips.
"Charles," she said. "Mr. Evors, what are you doing here?"
"We will come to that presently," Evors replied. "Meanwhile, you can be
observed from where you are, and those rioters yonder may make it awkward
for you. When they have patched up their quarrel, I will return to the
house with you and explain. We can get in by the little green door behind
the gunroom."
Vera suffered herself to be led away, feeling now utterly unable to be
astonished at anything. They came at length to the secluded side of the
house, where the girl paused and looked at her companion for an
explanation.
"You seem to be strangely familiar with this place," she said. "You walk
about here in the dark as if you had known this house all your lifetime,
Have you been here before?"
"Many a time," Evors replied sadly. "Up to the time I was twenty my
happiest years were spent here. But I see you are still in the dark.
Cannot you guess who I really am, Vera? No? Then I will enlighten you. My
name is Charles Evors, and I am the only son of Lord Merton. I was born
here, and, if the Fates are good to me, some day I hope to die here."